


Reflections

by Aethelflaed



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort No Hurt, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Aziraphale (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Love, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22464388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: “Do you think I should change?”Aziraphale's innocent question hides a world of doubt. Fortunately, Crowley knows just what to say.--“Aziraphale. Look at me.” He waited until those blue eyes, looking oddly shy and unsure, met his. “If you want to change how you look, that’s fine. It’s your body. But I don’t want you to think for a moment that you’re anything less than the most beautiful angel ever to walk on Heaven or Earth.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 305





	Reflections

“Do you think I should change?”

Crowley glanced up from the hotel bathroom mirror where he’d been putting the final touches on his new hairstyle. Aziraphale stood beside him, studying his own reflection.

“If you want, I suppose,” Crowley said slowly, turning back to his work, adjusting the way his red locks fell around his new dark glasses. His hair had finally passed from the awkward stage between “short” and “long,” and to celebrate he’d acquired a new dress, new heels, new everything. The face that looked back at him was almost entirely altered, and he’d been excited to wear it out on the first night of their first proper holiday together. “You don’t ever really _change_ , do you?”

“That’s what I mean. Should I? I haven’t updated my look since shortly after I opened the bookshop.”

That wasn’t exactly true. He’d gone through a whole range of neckties and ascots before settling on the bow tie in the early seventies.

“It’s up to you,” Crowley said as casually as possible. “What are you thinking? A haircut? New shirt?”

“Something a bit more than that.” Aziraphale’s hand smoothed down his front as he studied the old, worn waistcoat.

No, not the waistcoat. The waistline below it.

“Angel, what brought this on?” His voice sounded tenser than he’d intended.

“What? Nothing. I just thought, since you’re always reinventing yourself…” he caught Crowley’s expression. “Don’t make such a fuss, dear, it’s just a body. I’m certain you gained at least ten pounds just for this outfit.”

Crowley ran a hand over his newfound curves - still just a subtle hint of softness beside Aziraphale’s plush form. “Well, yeah,” he admitted uncertainly. “I thought it would look good.”

“And it does,” Aziraphale assured him quickly. “I’ve just been thinking, I haven’t really kept up with standards of beauty, have I?” He turned, looking at himself in the mirror from every angle. “This body shape hasn’t exactly been in style since, oh, the late Renaissance I should think.”

Firmly turning his back on the mirror, Crowley boosted himself to sit on the granite countertop between the two sinks. “Aziraphale. Look at me.” He waited until those blue eyes, looking oddly shy and unsure, met his. “If you want to change how you look, that’s fine. It’s your body. But I don’t want you to think for a _moment_ that you’re anything less than the most beautiful angel ever to walk on Heaven or Earth.”

“Oh, Crowley,” he objected, stepping back. “Really, dear, I’m trying to be serious, not fish for…for flattery.”

“S’not flattery, it’s the truth. I mean, who’s the competition? Gabriel? Michael? Sandalphon?”

“Sandalphon has a very devoted following, I’ll have you know. And, well,” those hands tugged at his waistcoat again, pulling it smooth, wearing away the fabric between the buttons, one anxious worry at a time. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but Gabriel is…in all his forms…”

“A total fake,” Crowley finished. Black-painted nails waved away Aziraphale’s objection. “It’s true. He can be as gaudy as he likes, doesn’t change the fact that he’s rotten and ugly to the core. But you…” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s hand, pulled him close. “You are clever and kind and loving and just a bit…roguish.”

“Roguish?” Aziraphale fought back a smile.

“Alright, fine, you’re an utter bastard in all the best ways.” He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s hair line, smiling against his forehead. “And that makes you beautiful in a way none of them could ever equal.”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned against him, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist.

“Now, as for appearance,” Crowley rested his chin in Aziraphale’s soft, feathery curls. “Yeah, I change my look a lot. I _like_ changing it. It’s exciting, it’s fun. I’d have a whole new body every week if I could. But that’s me. You, Angel, are different, and that’s fine. You’ve found a body, a look a…an identity that fits you perfectly. And I’ve never seen anyone so comfortable with who they are. So don’t go changing a thing unless you really want to, ok?”

“Alright.” Aziraphale leaned back, and Crowley was relieved to see him smiling again, eyes practically glowing with happiness.

“And, if you do decide you want a change, let me know. I’ve done it all, so who better to give advice, right?” He leaned down and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek, just hard enough to leave a faint but unmistakable lipstick mark. Let the angel find _that_ later.

Crowley hopped back down, turning to look at his reflection again, making sure everything was perfect. He scratched a nail at a tiny smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

“You know, my dear, you’re beautiful, too,” Aziraphale said, coming to stand beside him.

“I hope so,” Crowley said with a laugh, fixing a strand of hair. “I worked hard enough for it.”

“No I mean…” Aziraphale’s hand came up, not quite touching the dark glasses. “May I?”

Crowley swallowed, but nodded his head. Aziraphale gently pulled the glasses down, away, exposing the one thing Crowley could never change about himself: those yellow, sickly eyes with the narrow pupils. Inhuman. Ugly. He couldn’t quite meet their gaze.

Aziraphale, however, reached up and rested his fingers on Crowley’s temple. “There they are. The loveliest eyes in all Creation.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Crowley groaned, turning away from his reflection again. “They’re horrible!”

“No.” Aziraphale placed a hand on the back of Crowley’s head, tipping it down. Crowley closed his eyes and felt lips gently brush one eyelid, then the other. “They’re unique. They’re beautiful. They are absolutely you, and I have always loved them.”

“They make me look like…like a monster,” he confessed with a shudder.

Aziraphale kept kissing him - bridge of his nose, middle of his forehead, each cheek just below the eye. “You are not - you have never been - a monster. You are my handsome, wily, gentle, devoted friend. You can change the outside as much as you like, but who and what you are underneath is the same as ever.”

“And what’s that?” asked the Serpent of Eden.

“The most resplendent soul it has ever been my pleasure to meet.”

“If you say so,” Crowley grumbled. He wasn’t sure he believed that - Aziraphale seemed determined to find the good in everyone - but the pressure of kisses was more than enough to make him smile. “Now say something nice about my hair. I worked hard on it.”

Aziraphale leaned back, pursing his lips in thought. “It is radiant as the dawn, vibrant as a fire, and as delicate as a sculpture made from the finest glass.”

“Does that mean it looks good?” Crowley asked with a grin.

“My dear, everyone at the restaurant will be incurably jealous of me.” He held the glasses on his palm.

“Jealous of you?” Crowley plucked them up and slid them on his face, relaxing a little to see the world filtered through dark lenses once more.

“Yes, to be walking around with the most charming creature in existence on my arm.”

Aziraphale offered his elbow and, pausing one last time to adjust his dress, Crowley rested his hands on it, pulling close, as he’d wished to do for so many centuries.

With matching looks of utter adoration, they turned and walked away from the mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I promise I am still working on my WIPs, but I just had to share this.
> 
> In my mind, Aziraphale is perfectly happy and comfortable with his appearance 95% of the time; but sometimes he sees how much work Crowley puts in and thinks "could I do better?" And of course, Gabriel could make anyone feel insecure.
> 
> BTW, I'm still experimenting with the best way to represent Crowley as genderfluid in-story, so any thoughts/suggestions are welcome.


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